


Plenty

by MaK



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/F, Meteorstuck, Tentabulges
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-22
Updated: 2015-05-22
Packaged: 2018-03-31 16:32:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3985042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaK/pseuds/MaK
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When you were first comfortable enough to touch her and she comfortable enough to be touched, you would spend hours simply feeling her, noting the small difference between the skin on her feet and the skin on her stomach, and running your fingers over places that would make her sigh, cause her to jump, or have her do nothing at all except smile at you fondly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Plenty

**Author's Note:**

> i actually started this fic like nearly two months ago n then found it n was like "whoa this is one Neat Fic" n well here we r
> 
> also lmao how tf does anyone title anything ever like someone pls tell me how im supposed to title this gay ass fanfiction about lesbians jacking off w each other like how???? do u title that w/o bein like "GOD IS FROWNING AT ME RN"

Rose leans back against you and yawns, contentedly curled up in your lap with her head tucked under your chin; though she's drifting between being asleep and awake, she occasionally presses warm kisses against your throat, ones that tickle and make your face grow warm. After a few moments spent with her not moving save for the rise and fall of her chest, you assume she's asleep and shift one of your legs off to the side - you're loathe to move her but you've lost all feeling below your knee and the buzzing sensation that makes your toes twitch is soon to drive you insane - only to find that she stirs, eyes still shut but her hand comes to seek out yours, lazy entwining your fingers. 

There will never not be a day, you hypothesize, where you will not be fascinated with how soft and warm she is. Her skin, in comparison to the hard texture of yours, squishes under your fingertips and flowers in colors of purple and brown if you push too hard; when you were first comfortable enough to touch her and she comfortable enough to be touched, you would spend hours simply feeling her, noting the small difference between the skin on her feet and the skin on her stomach, and running your fingers over places that would make her sigh, cause her to jump, or have her do nothing at all except smile at you fondly. It did take a few weeks until you understood that her suddenly jolting away from you wasn't an act of fear or pain, but simply that she was ticklish and preferred to not be lightly touched in such areas (you kept them in mind, of course; right under her ribs and her arms were immediately sensitive places and you later found her feet and beneath her knee to be much the same). It took less time for you to find that lightly running your nails down her back and over her shoulders would make her sigh, or that bringing your hands to her inner thighs would have her grow quiet, her teeth coming to bite at her bottom lip. With her encouragement, you were quick to find that rubbing your fingers at the apex of her legs would have her sigh in a completely different way: breathy and high, with her shoulders shaking a little and a smile on her face. You were particularly happy to find that bringing your hand around her bulge (she's told you before that humans have many different words for it but, really, none of them sound appealing and she just laughs when you insist on calling her bulge a bulge rather than anything else) and stroking slowly gets her worked up rather fast, especially when you run your thumb over the tip and she covers her mouth with her palm, eyes shut and blushing warm while you press kisses to her soft skin. 

Similarly, with her boundless curiosity and avant-garde way of thinking, Rose was quick to get to know your body as soon as you opened it up to her. She spent her time slowly, fingers grazing over the scars that line your sides from when you were a grub, scratching at the divots in between each cicatrix and smiling when a purr would start up in the back of your throat. She would kiss at the meeting of neck and shoulder, bringing her lips up to your jaw and then meeting you fully when you turn your head; sometimes, though you've come to doubt it, you think she might See into the future of your relationship - not far ahead, not in the distant future, but rather in upcoming moments, to find what places will get the most or least amount of noise out of you before even touching them, putting herself one step ahead of you. It is possible that it was just pure luck, or perhaps she had read it in one of the various explicit Alternian novels she keeps hidden from you, that she ran her hands beneath your rumble spheres, slow and dedicated to watching you turn a new shade of green while attempting to quiet your consistent purring. From there, she moved down to your feet, disappointed to find that you were not ticklish and even more so to learn that trolls were generally not ticklish in any area, then brought her hands to your calves and thighs, warm palms resting against your skin while she was content to spend a minute watching you watch her. When she got to the point where fingers were between your legs, her first inquiry was if it was somehow similar to the scars on your sides and the second was closer to a demand on how to get you riled up. There was only a little embarrassment present when you reached between your legs, laying back and bringing your knees up just slightly, and explaining what a nook and a bulge was; she was quick to catch on, finding that little time spent with her fingers inside of you would get your bulge to unsheathe and was almost too excited to see it. Her particular delight with, as she said, " _Your tentacle genitalia_ ," was shown with her fast strokes up and down your bulge while she kept her fingers crooked inside of you, though she was a bit stumped to find that the need for a bucket was ever real and not just some silly troll metaphor that she had assumed it to be. 

By the time feeling comes back to your leg, Rose has perked up, though still a little drowsy, and offers a slow, long kiss before uncurling herself. Stretching forward, she brings her head to her knees and leans back, raising her arms and yawning, then turns to face you. Again, her hands reach out and find yours, settling them on her thighs after she's scooted to where you're a mere inches away from each other and maneuvered her legs over the top of yours; you're keenly aware that if she were to move the slightest bit forward, your pelvis would be flush against hers and you can't shake the appeal of the idea. It doesn't help that you spent the entirety of Rose's nap thinking about her and thinking about her touching you, with deft hands and devilish intentions. 

She kisses you again, this one shorter but just as sweet as the last, and asks with a hushed tone, "What have you got on your mind?" The question isn't far from innocent, but you suppose it's straying in another direction as you watch her cheeks become a subtle shade of pink and minutely feel her pulse through her skin as it rushes a little faster than normal - not worrisome, not as bad as the times she wakes up from the terrors in her dreams, but simply excited, and that alone excites you. 

"I love you," you tell her. Though the sentiment was often lost on Alternia, it was given a whole new perspective the first time Rose said it to you - the sight of fidgeting hands and a red face are forever implanted in your memory - and you've since done your best to let her know that you love her too, you love her so much you question if it's even possible to be so caught up in a person and never get tired of them, even if that person has a knack for playing with your ears and scratching the base of your horns if you leave her without attention for too long. You question if someone can exasperate you in a good way, if being pleasantly exasperated is even achievable, but here you are.

Rose leaves a quick kiss to your nose before saying, "I love you too." Though you had often felt the feeling was exaggerated in romance novels, you think you finally understand what all those authors were talking about when they described that expanding, warm feeling that frequently engulfs you in your entirety; which can only be truly characterized as _flushed_ and you are so terribly flushed for Rose it's bordering on ridiculous. 

It's also bordering on embarrassing - you're lusting terribly for her to close the small space between your hips.

You haven't been able to bring it up yet, but you are dying to; though her bulge is different from yours, in that it mostly stays still and doesn't seem to move on its own (nor does it generate its own lubricant, which seems like an evolutionary defect in your opinion), you want to wrap your bulge around hers. Just thinking about it makes your face warm, though you've been blushing since she fell asleep, and though you're loathe to leave her, you fear that you'll soon need to abandon her and pail in your room. 

Still close to you, she raises her eyebrows and waits for you to extinguish her curiosity with plenty of long-winded answers. You glance down, between the two of you and rest your eyes on the small piece of floor visible between your legs, but then quickly look up and almost outwardly ask if one can make a nonverbal Freudian slip. Her eyes follow where yours were, as if connecting the dots, and then inquisitively looks up at you again while moving forward, her warm thighs and soft bulge against yours and this is why you believe she occasionally Sees to find the best course of action. In this case, you can't pretend you mind all that much, and let out a quiet moan. Rose smiles and asks again, "What have you got on your mind?" 

You look away from her eyes, instead looking off at the basket of purple yarn near her dresser and the few needles that surround it. Staring at the basket, you pretend as if you can see every little line of fiber and compose yourself to respond, "In the books you've read..." she perks up, leaning with her face a few centimeters closer to yours, "Did you ever happen to read a passage about wrapping bulges or anything of the sort?" She nods and you awkwardly add, "Would you like to... try it?" 

Rose leans forward and closes the small space between your faces once again, pressing a light kiss against your lips and you grab at the hem of her shirt near helplessly. She pulls away and asks, "Can we? Is that something we could do?" 

You suppose she's wondering how it would work given that her bulge doesn't move, or perhaps wondering given that your bulge does move, which would seem more likely from her perspective. Even if the universe denied you the capability of doing so, you'd like to imagine sheer willpower would allow you to go through with it, seeing as it took you enough courage as is to even pose the question in the first place. You quit looking at the purple yarn on her dresser to instead focus on her and formulate an actual response. "I think so," you mumble, which must not sound too confident because she seems a little unsure given the way her eyebrows crease and her lips straighten. "That is," you backtrack, "I don't think we couldn't, in that so far we seem to be compatible in every physical aspect, so I can't imagine this would be terribly different. I mean, if you would like to." You pretend your face isn't as warm as it really is and try to appear at least a little calm, if only for her benefit (and because you do like to think of yourself as a savvy romantic from time to time).

"We could," she states, looking down between you. Before you can say anything else she kneels and shuffles out of her shorts; you're reminded again of the evolutionary defects of humans because why wouldn't they develop any sort of protect sheathe between their legs? It only seems natural, but you suppose it overall works in your favor because it doesn't take long to get Rose when you can immediately get to business, wrapping your fist around the length of her bulge and watching as her eyes close and she lets out a high, breathy sigh before grabbing the hair at the nape of your neck. Her bulge really isn't all that big, a comment you voiced to her the first time you and her got into a situation like this and she looked rather cross with you, and though you're still a little unsure as to whether or not that's a good thing, you've learned to keep a majority of your comments to yourself in that regard. Luckily, Rose isn't thinking about embarrassing memories like that - or, at least, you don't think she is, with the way she's breathing above you and making slight thrusting motions with her hips, which you think is mostly involuntary but cute regardless. You're fairly certain you recall humans having short reposal periods and you're tempted to exploit this, but before you can get around to that or even suggesting it, Rose sets her hands on your shoulders and tells you, "Okay, wait," while catching her breath. 

When she does catch her breath, she kisses you lightly a total of three times before pressing her warm palm between your legs. She makes a quiet sound when she realizes you're already unsheathed and you're a little embarrassed for it, but you don't have a lot of time to dwell on such matters because she's hooking her thumbs into the band of your briefs and glances up for just a moment to make sure that this is okay, and it is, so she pulls your shorts down past your knees and you can't even pretend to be bothered with kicking them all the way off. Rose runs her fingers down the underside of your bulge and it wraps itself around her thumb, leaving an opaque trail of genetic fluid that she once described as, "Not particularly sweet," with somewhat of a sour look on her face, though you're still not sure if _that's_ a good or bad thing because no one else has told you what your genetic material tastes like (as if there's been anyone else to try it in the first place) and you've never been interested in trying it yourself (the thought actually seems rather dirty to you). You'd tell Rose what her's tastes like but she says she doesn't trust her bulge in your mouth with your fangs and you suppose you can understand where she's coming from but it won't stop you from being a little disappointed. 

"Alright," she says, after having allowed your bulge to wrap around her palm and she can hold it a little more firmly and you cover your mouth so as not to gasp so loudly. She then puts her opposite hand on your shoulder and pushes you lightly and this isn't exactly how you pictured this going but you hadn't really pictured it happening at all so you comply and lay down completely on your back. She moves until she's on top of you with her arm supporting her and there's a brief moment where you think there might have been a slightly cultural misunderstanding because it seems she's about to enter your nook which would be _great_ but it's not something the two of you have discussed all that fully, but luckily she doesn't and simply moves her hips down to meet the hand that's got your bulge wrapped around it. "Right?" Rose looks up at you and you remember, oh, yeah, she probably doesn't know if everything she's doing is the right thing (even though it is). You nod your head and watch with both anticipation and slight worry as your bulge moves away from her hand and instead finds the tip of her bulge; you bite your lip and are a little surprised to hear Rose let our a high whine above you. 

In little time at all, your bulge has coiled itself around her's and is repeatedly dragging itself up and down her length and, wow, that's heavenly, sometimes you forget just how warm human's are naturally and it's always a pleasant surprise when you're reminded again. Rose whines again and moves to hide her face between your shoulder and neck, occasionally breathing out warm gusts of air that tickle, while pressing her flat chest to yours and for a second you think she might just fall completely and you wonder how this must feel for her (she's commented before about your lukewarm blood and how your skin is almost always cool to the touch compared to hers and you can't figure if that would be a good thing or a bad thing in this scenario but it must not be a _terrible_ thing because she's mumbling your name between breaths while grinding her bulge against yours, which you are one hundred percent positive is a very good thing, at least in your opinion, but you imagine it's good in her opinion too). 

You rest your hands on her thighs because that seems like the best thing to do rather than keep them awkwardly set at your side, but that soon turns boring and run your hands up her sides and to the middle of her back, dragging her shirt with them. She's voiced before that's not entirely comfortable with showing her bare chest and you make no move to actually take off her shirt, but instead drag your nails down the curve of her spine. Her breath hitches and she stops, making a strained noise in the back of her throat and you think you've done something wrong until she sits back up and mumbles, "Sorry. I wasn't expecting that," with a particularly red blush on her face. You look down to see her genetic material on your waist and while you've wondered before and could wonder again as to why humans come so little in comparison to trolls, but instead you end up wondering how she stills make entire sentences during these events because you're often left wordless. You are a little happy to have made her come first, but you don't voice this because, for one, you think it might be one of those comments you ought to keep to yourself and, for two, she's wrapping her hand around your bulge again so you don't have a lot of time to voice anything other than a surprised moan. 

The way Rose watches you is a little embarrassing and you tilt your head away to look at the floor instead, which later she'll probably question you about for the sake of jollity. You figure that you'll be willing to suffer through a few disconcerting inquiries if it means she'll keep pumping your bulge the way she is and you try to keep yourself composed but after awhile you choke out her name and she stops; you're only momentarily upset with that because she only paused to grab a bucket out of her sylladex, simultaneously pouring out the entirety of its contents onto the floor due to her tricky fetch modus, but she doesn't stop to deal with that and you're quite grateful for such an action. She grips your bulge while pressing the bucket between your legs and you're more than certain that half of your genetic material is about to end up on the floor, but you're really not in any mood to correct such an error and it's nothing a few towels can't fix anyway. 

You do, however, end up regretting such a decision, because towels don't fix much of anything when it comes to permanent stains. You and Rose end up spending a few hours alchemizing various types of rugs to cover the area and you both pretend that it doesn't look totally awkward as it contrasts the rest of her room. She tells you its her favorite, to which you tell her having a favorite rug is silly, but she's committed and goes on to describe how beautifully tacky it is and, in hindsight, she notes how it should have been a jade color rather than the odd shade of yellow it is right now, but you don't even want to think about trying to change that and instead put your hand over her mouth. She kisses your palm, which is sweet, but then she licks it, and you push her shoulder while wiping off her spit while she snickers.


End file.
